Crimes of Passion
by blackdragonsghost
Summary: Damien Vryce and Gerald Tarrant went their separate ways after defeating Calesta. Seeking a new purpose, Damien becomes a BAU profiler for Aaron Hotchner's team, specializing in serial murderers. When a ruthless killer with an eerily familiar signature appears, will the case bring the priest and the adept together again, or drive them apart forever? Slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: First crossover fic, woo hoo! A long time ago I read another Coldfire fanfic which proposed that after the events of CoS Damien might have become a cop: I liked the thought of Damien going into law enforcement, and CM is my favorite TV show, so it was only a matter of time before this odd little plot was born. Certain portions of canon from both universes are ignored: most obviously, Gerald keeps his original looks, simply because I think he's way hotter with blond hair and grey eyes. Also, in this fic, Strauss is still a total you-know-what. That all said, I've done my utmost to stay in character; if Gerald seems a little off, that's because he never actually tried to seduce Damien, so there's no canon to reference there. Romance figures largely here, but there is actually a lot of plot as well (and a good one, if I dare say so myself). Small warning for huge CM fans: most of the focus is probably going to land on the Coldfire aspect here. Apologies, but I'm so totally in love with Gerald that I just can't help myself. However, I will do my best to give the CM characters a turn at bat as well, because I do love them dearly. Especially Reid! He's just so sweet! A last plea: reviews are my bread and butter - please, feed me!_

_Pairings: (Main)Damien/Gerald, (Secondary)Hotch/Reid_

_Warnings: Slash, violence. Also some Ciani-bashing, severe Strauss-bashing. _

_Disclaimer: I have no claim to Criminal Minds or the Coldfire Trilogy. _

_A.N.2: I freely admit, I am shamelessly fishing for more reviews and readers by doing a CM crossover. The Coldfire fandom is in danger of suffocating from a lack of fans, and if I can bring new prey- ahem, new **audience members** into the fandom I will do anything to accomplish that. Including beg shamelessly for readers. Please, give it a shot, it's a wonderful, fantastic storyline! _

_A.N.3: First chapter's a bit angsty, next ones will be more light-hearted and humorous. _

_First Bunch of Idiots_, Damien thought wryly. That's what a lot of people said was the real expanded form of FBI, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, headquartered in Jaggonath City. It made him wonder what they said of his division in particular - the Behavioural Analysis Unit, or BAU. After a moment's consideration, he decided he was probably better off not knowing.

He stared down at his desk, covered in a foot-thick layer of paperwork, and sighed heavily. Apparently, idiots liked paperwork. As a Knight of the Flame, Damien was used to chopping the heads off demons and continuing on his way - he'd never had to fill out a six-page form just to say he'd killed yet another damn vampire. That had changed when he'd been asked to join the BAU on the basis of his demon-killing skills, and when he'd taken over as Unit Chief, he'd wound up with an even bigger share of paperwork. At this point, he usually had to distribute at least half of his reports among his team to have any shot at getting them done on time. That wasn't technically allowed, but their resident genius Spencer Reid was good enough at imitating Damien's language patterns that they had never been suspected, much less caught.

Damien smiled at the thought of the young agent. He reminded Damien a little of another genius he'd traveled with, some time ago: this one was a hell of a lot more innocent, though. Besides, Reid was spoken for: there was an unwritten rule about not being in a relationship with a coworker, but that hadn't stopped him and Aaron Hotchner. Of course, the woman who was one link higher on the food chain around here, Erin Strauss, had suspected them for some time - it was part of why Aaron Hotchner had stepped down from Supervisory Special Agent to the rank of Agent again, leaving Damien to take over his position.

All in all, Damien's life was definitely looking up. He was collecting commendations like horse chestnuts, and even Strauss couldn't find anything really bad to say about him. He'd made his peace with the Church, he had a steady job doing good in the world, there were no more sadistic demons trying to take over the world... and yet, sometimes, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something missing. Beneath all the layers of satisfaction and determination and pride, there was a hole in his heart that refused to mend.

Laying down his pen, Damien stared out the window for a moment, watching the crowds of people filing by in the street below. He knew, deep down, what had caused that hole. He knew what was missing.

Gerald Tarrant.

Having risked his life to destroy the demon Calesta, Gerald had been restored to his mortal life. Surrendering his immortality and status as the Hunter had bought them the leeway they needed to win the war, but Damien thought that in the end it really wasn't that terrible a price. Far harder than knowing Gerald was no longer the Hunter was knowing that after all that they had been through, the adept had still walked away.

Damien knew he didn't really have any right to be hurt. After all, there had never been the slightest hint of anything more than friendship between them, had there? The friendship alone had been a miracle; to hope for more was just too much. Yet, seeing Gerald Tarrant restored to mortality, shining like an angel in the light of the morning sun... Damien had almost given in. He'd come so close to breaking the unwritten rule that kept them from speaking of what might or might not be between them, had almost broken down and begged the adept not to go. It would undoubtedly have been futile, though: Gerald was a scientist, an explorer, he wouldn't have stood for being tied down. Alone in his office, though, watching the sun just settling to the horizon, Damien couldn't help but wonder what might have been.

There was a knock at the door. Firmly pushing all thoughts of Core-golden hair and sparkling silver eyes out of his head, Damien looked away from the window. "Come in."

It was Derek Morgan. The dark-skinned man gave Damien an easy grin as he lounged against the doorframe. "Hey, D. We're going out to have a few drinks and see if we can find Emily a guy for the dance night Garcia's hosting this weekend. You wanna come? We might even be able to find you a girl!"

Damien forced a smile, but shook his head. Ever since he'd started work here, the team had been trying to set him up with some girl or another. He wasn't exactly sure what his tastes were anymore: he'd once believed himself to be perfectly straight, then he'd met Gerald. Now, anyone he met, man or woman, got compared to the fastidiously arrogant adept - and promptly shot down. There wasn't anyone in the world who could truly compete with Gerald, and so Damien had spent the last five years alone, pining for a man who had probably forgotten all about him.

"Thank's for the offer, Derek, but I'm not really in the mood."

"Aw, come on man, you need to get out more." the younger agent said, shaking his head. "You spend all day in here with a face like your dog just died: you need a girlfriend to liven things up!"

_No woman could ever liven my life up as much as Gerald did just by existing. _Aloud, Damien said only, "Maybe next time."

"Okay, man, if that's what you want." Morgan said, lifting his hands in defeat and walking back to the bullpen where the others were waiting. "No luck." he told them, shaking his head again. "D's just not budging."

Jennifer Jareau, their press liaison, looked concerned. "I wonder if something's wrong?" she murmured, glancing up toward Damien's office.

"I don't normally pry into coworker's lives," Aaron Hotchner said with a frown, "but if I had to guess I'd say that there was someone in his heart before he came here. Might have ended badly, might have never started, but he's pining for someone. Until he can move past that person, there's no hope of setting him up with anyone to last."

In his office, Damien stared out the window and daydreamed of the adept who, in spite of all odds, had managed to win his heart.

Elsewhere in the city, a loremaster named Ciani was returning home after a very long day. She'd only recently arrived back from her sojourn in the rakhlands, studying the feline rakh and their customs. She had rebuilt the Fae Shoppe from the rubble, and was currently trying to set up trade relations between humans and the rakh. So far, it looked promising. Deep in thought, she was distracted when she walked into the shop, so it was a few moment before she turned the light on and looked around properly.

Once she did, she screamed fit to wake the dead.

The body of a young woman lay in the middle of the shop, in the center of a huge pool of blood. The corpse was brutally mangled, crisscrossed by deep gashes and gaping wounds. On the wall, in blood-red letters three feet high, was a single word.

_**Murderer.**_

_Well, there you go, that's the teaser. Next chapter coming soon. Reviews make the world go 'round, please keep the globe spinning!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Well, hard to say if anyone's reading this (except for the one fellow-author/possible-alter-ego who is kind enough to read my efforts no matter how weird they sound) but I refuse to be deterred. SOMEHOW, I **will **bring more readers to this fandom. If it kills me. Which it may. _

_Warnings: Strauss-bashing, Ciani-bashing (well, not so much Ciani-bashing as Ciani-torturing), slash, blood and guts_

_Disclaimer: I own the clothes on my back and half a flooded apartment. Nothing else. _

_A.N.2: I know I mentioned more humor. That's probably going to show up next chapter instead, it seems to be a bit tardy at the moment. Don't think that means you're escaping the gore when it does show up, though. And be warned, I have been known to have a slightly sick sense of humor. _

The ringing of the telephone was ear-splitting in the silence. Groaning and grumbling, Damien flung out a hand and groped blindly in the darkness, until he finally managed to get hold of the receiver and bring it to his ear.

"This had vulking well better be important."

"Morning to you too, boss." Derek Morgan's voice drifted through the speaker. "We've got a situation: pretty gruesome. Murdered girl, found in a downtown business: the PD think it might be some kind of ritual killing. Hope I'm not interrupting anything - you got a girl there?"

"Jump in a volcano, Morgan." Damien growled, rubbing at his eyes. Two minutes awake and he could already feel the pressure that heralded a headache. He obviously needed to see the department Healer again: the woman claimed that it was just stress and there was nothing she could do, but there had to be some solution, even if only temporary. "What's the address?"

"Ah... 3472 Gees Street."

"Are you kidding me?" Damien was on his feet like a shot, heart pounding. "Not the _Fae Shoppe_?"

"Yeah - don't tell me you know it? It was the owner who found the body, a Lady Ciani: old friend?"

"Oh, thank God she's alright." Damien sighed, relieved. "I didn't even know she was back in Jaggonath. Yeah, I know her. I'll meet you at the scene, all right?"

"Sure thing, D." Morgan hung up before Damien could find something else to yell about: the older agent was famous for his hatred of early mornings. Groaning irritably and cursing every criminal ever born, Damien managed to don a suit and make himself at least moderately presentable before staggering out the door and saddling his horse. The rebuilt Fae Shoppe was halfway across Jaggonath, and Damien had no intention of walking that far this early in the morning.

When he arrived at the scene he was greeted by the sight of a young CSI staggering out of the front door and losing his breakfast all over the sidewalk. Damien winced. That was never a good sign.

Hotch met him in the doorway, expression even grimmer than usual. "It looks like a bad one. The store owner's holding up surprisingly well, but the techs are having trouble staying the room long enough to process the scene."

"Ciani's tough, she's probably seen worse." Damien said heavily. "Better have her wait out front just in case: I'll take a look at the body then question her myself."

Whatever he had been expecting when Hotch led him into the room with the body, it wasn't this. The body of a young, dark-haired woman lay in the middle of the room, absolutely drenched in blood. Her entire torso had been split open by a deep, ruler-straight gash that ran from her collarbone to her navel. Other gashes adorned her once-creamy skin, just as precise and carefully executed as the first. Sickness washed through Damien, though for a completely different reason, and he looked around, dreading what he might find.

Candles. Sigils and symbols, chalked carefully onto the stone floor. The marks of ritual Working, a spell written in blood.

Damien forced down any trace of emotion and stepped forward, studying the girl's body with the clinical detachment which had served him so well in the BAU - a detachment cultivated during two years of watching a ruthless adept slaughtering his prey. "Some kind of ritual killing. The cuts are deep but precise, no signs of hesitation. They're placed to avoid major arteries: she bled out over a long period of time. Sadistic as hell, and not particularly fast, so they weren't afraid of getting caught." He looked up at the far wall, where massive letters spelled out _Murderer._ "The letters are sloppy on the edges, which means whoever did that was probably in some kind of emotional turmoil. Obviously some kind of message, but it's hard to guess to whom. Could be to the victim, could be to whoever the fantasy is constructed around... hard to say without more info."

"How do you do that?" Hotch asked, his face slightly green. Damien looked up at him, startled.

"Do what?"

"I've been in this job for eight years and I still almost lost it when I walked in here." Hotch said, staring at Damien. "You've only been here five years and you didn't even blink. How did you get so inured to this kind of carnage?"

Damien looked back down at the girl's body and sighed. "I was a Knight of the Flame, Hotch." he said softly. "I fought demons, and five years ago I fought the worst demon anyone's ever seen. I saw horrors on that quest that would turn your hair white: adepts who had been threatened with death by my own Church, who thought themselves children even as their bodies decayed and putrified. Strong, healthy rakh, twisted into nightmarish abominations that fed on human souls. Humans driven so deeply into desperation that they tore each other apart like rabid wolves, sacrificing their fellows in a last-ditch attempt to survive. People have asked me how I stayed sane through that nightmare, and sometimes, Hotch, I think that maybe I didn't."

Leaving the stunned profiler behind, Damien went back out onto the street. Ciani was standing a few feet away, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, talking in subdued tones to a police constable. Sighing, Damien walked over to them.

"You can get back to the station, Neil, I've got this."

The constable nodded and hurried away. Ciani turned, and despite the horrible sight she had witnessed her green eyes brightened slightly. "Damien! What are you doing here?"

"I'm the Unit Chief for the BAU team assigned to this case." Damien said, conjuring a tired smile for his ex-lover. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

"Not much to tell." Ciani said quietly. "I came back after meeting with a trader - I live in the flat above the shop now - and when I opened the door, I found... that."

"Was the door locked when you got back?" Damien asked.

"Yes. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary - and I didn't sense anything in the fae either." Ciani said, her expression troubled. She looked at the door of the shop for a moment, then whispered, "You know what this reminds me of, don't you."

Damien's stomach plummeted, and he swallowed hard. "It can't be him, Cee." he said softly. "You didn't see how much he's changed. Besides, this doesn't feel like him. The murder itself is similar to what happened to his wife, but the words on the wall... that's not his style. The rest is cold and calculated, but the writing's too messy, the murderer was either very angry or suffering an attack of remorse. Neither fits him. He's killed too many times to be remorseful if he was already that far gone into the shadows again, and you've seen him when he's angry, he only gets more collected than usual."

Ciani shivered. "I pray to the gods that you're right, Damien. Because if he's killing again... then no one is safe."

Those words lingered in Damien's mind all the way back to the FBI headquarters. As his team walked in, about to start their investigation into the victim's identity, Strauss stepped out of her office.

"Agent Vryce, in here, now!"

Damien stifled a groan. "Yes, ma'am." He glanced at Hotch. "Get started without me."

Damien entered the office and shut the door behind him. "Yes?"

Strauss gestured for him to sit down. "I wanted to let you know that you're going to have help on this investigation. We're bringing in another unit to assist you, a team of specialists."

Damien sank into the chair, gaping at her. "You're kidding. We _are_ the specialists!"

Strauss gave him a flat look. "It's a new division we've just formed: the Ritual Crimes Task Force. They're specializing in the cases where crimes are committed in an attempt to gain influence over the fae."

At those words, Damien couldn't help but remember the ghost of a beautiful red-haired woman, her eyes shining with faith and love despite the ghastly wounds that marred her shapely form. Sickness roiled in his stomach: would Gerald have strayed down that road again? Surely not. Surely, he would make the most of this second chance...

"I really think my team can handle this, Supervisor." Damien said, careful to keep his tone respectful. It didn't help much: Strauss's disapproving look turned into a glare, and she closed the file sharply.

"This is not up for discussion, Agent Vryce." she said in a clipped tone. "The lead agent of the task force will be here in one hour: you _will_ bring him up to date on the situation, and you _will_ work with him to solve this case. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very, ma'am." Damien said heavily, groaning inwardly. Just what he needed: another bureaucratic paper-pusher full of theories with no real guts. He restrained his impatience, though, and simply nodded. "Is that all, ma'am?"

"For now." Strauss said, already opening another file. Biting his tongue, Damien rose and went to inform his team of the impending arrival. As if they didn't have enough problems already. The last thing they needed at this stage was an interloper messing with their investigation.

Although, if it really was Gerald Tarrant behind this murder... then the whole FBI wouldn't be enough to bring him to justice.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Not much to say, at this point. Although, I did hear on the news a couple days ago that they've just proven the existence of the elusive Higgs boson, also known as the 'God particle'. Pretty damn cool, if I do say so myself. I wonder what Gerald would make of that? _

_Warnings: Slash, violence, Strauss-bashing, yada yada yada. _

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Period. _

Emily stared at Damien, baffled. "So we just take this lying down?"

"It's starting to look that way." Damien said, shrugging helplessly. "Strauss was very clear that there's no getting out of this, and the guy's arriving any minute: we'll just have to-"

That sentence was never to be finished, though, because he'd just heard one of the secretaries saying, "Oh, yes, that's SSA Vryce right over there, Agent Tarrant."

Unable to believe his own ears, Damien whipped his head around, cricking his neck in the process - and felt his jaw hit the floor.

Gerald Tarrant was walking through the open glass doors with all the easy, nonchalant fluidity that had haunted Damien's dreams for six years. Tall and fair as ever, his golden hair was slightly longer than when Damien had last seen him; this had the effect of letting it flow down to just above his shoulders, delicious little half-curls forming at the ends. He was wearing the standard suit-and-tie ensemble mandated by the FBI and all its subdivisions, but someone had obviously bent the rules, because instead of the typical dark blue it was jet black with lavish gold embroidery. The suit was also a little more tailored than was standard: this meant that instead of hanging off of him like a paper bag, as Damien's was doing, it hugged his lean form and showed off his slender waist to full advantage. The man might have a face that an angel would die for, but one glance in those wicked grey eyes showed the temptations of a devil. Damien knew his mouth was hanging open, and the rest of the team also turned - and stared nearly as blatantly.

Emily bit her lip to keep from whistling and Morgan actually licked his lips slightly, his brown eyes wide with admiration. Damien couldn't quite repress an instant surge of jealous aggression, but he kept all trace of it from his expression. It was completely ridiculous to be thinking that only he had the right to look at Gerald like that - especially since he and Gerald had never even kissed.

The man in question swaggered over to their section of the bullpen with every drop of arrogance and elegance he possessed, that devilish smirk forming on his lips as his dazzling eyes locked onto Damien's. His smirk widened further.

"Vryce. You're looking well: I guess the BAU pays you more than the clergy did."

Damien was utterly floored for a moment longer, then he mentally scrambled and pulled his shattered wits together. He also noticed that his team were shooting intrigued glances from him to Gerald, and he winced inwardly: they'd be rooting for gossip by their first coffee break.

"Gerald." he said calmly, pulling on his 'tough, professional profiler' mask. "A pleasure, as always. Agent, hmm? I never thought I'd see the day you turned G-man."

The adept chuckled, eyes sparkling with pleasure at the swift comeback. "I could say the same about you, but I try to stay relatively honest these days. I should have known I'd find you here: always the incurable do-gooder, weren't you?"

"Occupational hazard of being a priest," Damien said dryly, before gesturing to the rest of his dumbstruck team. "Gerald Tarrant, meet Agents Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, and Emily Prentiss. This is Jennifer Jareau, our press liaison, and Penelope Garcia, our Working and technical analyst."

There was a chorus of rather star-struck helloes from the women, and a barely concealed come-on from Morgan, while Rossi fired off a quip about not really needing another pretty face in the BAU office. Gerald parried them all without missing a beat, clearly enjoying the exchanges, before nodding to Damien.

"If I might speak to you in your office for a moment..."

"Of course, right this way." Damien said, trying not to let his heartbeat speed up as he led the way up the stairs and ushered Gerald into his office.

The second the door closed behind the two men, the team burst into speculation. JJ was practically drooling.

"Oh, my God, do you believe it?" she gasped, her blue eyes huge. "Not only is the new guy drop-dead gorgeous, but he's got a history with D!"

"No wonder the boss man never goes on the dates we arrange for him," Garcia said with a wicked smile. "We've been setting him up with the wrong people - hell, the wrong team!"

"I don't think it would matter what gender we set him up with!" Reid said with a smile. "Who would go for a blind date with almost no probability of becoming a real relationship when you have that to daydream about?" Catching Hotch watching him with raised eyebrows, he laughed. "Oh, don't get all jealous on me, love. I was speaking hypothetically from _his_ point of view, not mine."

Hotch chuckled and Morgan snorted. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd say that guy's a free agent - and I know I'd like to take a shot at him!"

"Morgan!" Garcia scolded. "Don't you dare! I'd bet money that's the one the boss has been pining for - no way are you going after him, do you hear me?"

"Don't worry, baby girl, I'll play it cool." Morgan reassured her, grinning. "Besides, I'd guess D hasn't made his move yet; who knows? Maybe me making at pass at his sweetheart'll make him get his rear in gear."

Garcia blinked, and a gleam entered her eyes. "Actually, my gorgeous chocolate superhero, you may be right - and I think you've just given me a wonderful idea!"

Rossi shook his head. "You're meddlers, the lot of you." he said with weary amusement. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe the boss can handle his own love life?"

"_NO!_"

In his office, Damien snuck a glance between the closed blinds and shook his head in despair. "Great. They're at it already. By lunch Garcia will have dug up the old newspaper articles about my escapades and have connected you to the 'mysterious northern adept' that helped me."

Gerald was now sprawled comfortably on the couch by the window, smirking. "Discipline problems in your team, Vryce?"

"Not exactly: let's just say they aren't exactly afraid of my wrath." Damien said ruefully, moving across the room and seating himself in the armchair across from Gerald. He raked his tousled brown hair back from his face wearily, trying to ignore how the light was shimmering on Gerald's silky golden locks. "I honestly wasn't expecting to see you again, Gerald." he said softly, allowing the joking tone to fade from his voice.

Gerald also sobered, his smile softening, turning more genuine. "I know." He was silent a moment, then offered, "I meant to keep in touch - honestly. However, I... struggled for a while, finding my place in the world again. I didn't want to weigh you down."

Damien blinked. "What?"

Gerald grimaced apologetically. "I assumed you'd return to the Church - they'd have taken you back, no questions asked. You destroyed Calesta and, as far as they're concerned, eliminated the Hunter; you could have gone back. Who was I to stop you?"

Damien felt the hurt that had settled in his chest all those years ago starting to ease. He shook his head. "I thought about it, but - it wouldn't have felt right. I'm not the same person I was when I became a priest: if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that there's no point in trying to turn back time. I became a priest because I wanted to do good in the world: after what happened, I'm not sure if that would been the way to do that anymore. Besides... there were too many memories." Seeing Gerald's brow furrowing slightly, he decided to take the plunge: if they were going to work together, they needed to clear the air. "I couldn't listen to the services anymore: the words were a little _too _familiar."

Gerald's eyes widened instantly as Damien's meaning struck home. It didn't take long: after all, it was Gerald himself who had written every word of those services, each sentence crafted like the finest piece of art to shape the fae in the pattern of his vision. He stared at Damien wonderingly, an odd look in his grey eyes. "I see." he breathed, a sudden wicked delight suffusing his expression. A moment later, his face was carefully schooled mask once more, but he still looked pleased. "I suppose it's a good thing, really." he said flippantly. "After all, if you had stayed a priest, our paths might not have crossed again."

Damien felt warmth suffuse his chest, and he grinned. He knew what that meant. _Message received and understood, _was what the adept was carefully _not_ saying. Also, of course, the undeniable subtext: _your move, Vryce. Catch me if you can._

Just great, Damien thought wryly. He finally figured out that the man of his dreams was at least amenable to his advances, just when the greatest crime of his career landed in his lap. Perfect - and oh so typical of his luck.

Shaking his head, Damien leaned back in his chair. "A very good thing, then." he said with a grin. His grin faded, though, when he thought of what he was going to say next. "Gerald, I think it's not as critical to ask this now: you being here mostly eliminates the need as far as I'm concerned, but in the interests of my duty I still have to ask. Did you do this?"

Gerald didn't bother trying to dissemble, and his expression lost all teasing at once. "No." he said quietly, his pale eyes completely serious once more. "I know what it looks like, but I swear, I had nothing to do with this murder. I've gone straight, Vryce, for real."

Damien allowed himself a relieved exhale, then grinned suddenly. "That's a relief. Much as I enjoyed baiting you in the past, I'd hate to wind up enemies again: you're a very tricky bastard when you want to be. Now, we'd better get to the conference room - you can sit in on our briefing and preliminary profile."

Gerald rose in a fluid rustle of expensive fabric, smirking once more, a hint of triumph in his grey eyes. "Whatever you wish, Vryce." he practically purred, moving out of the office ahead of Damien. The ex-priest was grateful for that, as it gave him time to swallow the flame of sudden arousal the adept's words and tone had caused. It had given him totally inappropriate images of just exactly what he could wish for from Gerald. He let himself get as far as a split second of imagining what it would be like to pin him against his desk and devour that sinfully talented mouth, before he slammed down hard on that line of thought. _Not now_, he told himself firmly. Perhaps after this killer was caught, though... yes, then he would definitely revisit that thought.

The team watched intently as the two men exited Damien's office and headed toward the conference room, Damien beckoning them on the way. They waited a moment, whispering under their breath as they rose from where they were sitting.

"His hair's all rumpled: it looks like he's been running his hand through it again, that usually means he's stressed." Emily hissed, eyes fixed on their Unit Chief's back.

"How long do you think it'll take before they end up in bed?" Rossi murmured with a sly twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, not you too, Dave." Hotch said, a rare smile gracing his face. "What happened to protocol?"

"I don't think Agent Tarrant gives a damn about protocol from the looks he was throwing at D earlier." Morgan commented. "I think if it's up to him, they'll be going home together tonight."

"There's one thing I don't get." JJ said thoughtfully. "I thought the boss was straight: what's up with that?"

"You know, there's actually a surprisingly high percentage of men who consider themselves straight that will have a sexual relationship with one particular man that fits their taste." Reid chipped in. "Those relationships can be extremely enduring, even it the people involved are not otherwise interested in their own gender, because the attraction actually overcomes sexual inhibitions rather than being dictated by them."

"I think that was aimed partly at you, Hotch." Emily said with a grin. Reid just smiled, and Hotch laughed as he put an arm around Reid's slim shoulders.

"Sounds like a pretty accurate statistic to me." he said fondly, kissing the top of Reid's head affectionately.

_So, there you have it! The grand entrance of Gerald Tarrant! Will Damien have the nerve to pursue him? Or the willpower to resist him during the investigation? Well, since you're not the one writing this, I guess you'll just have to wait to find out! (Heh heh)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Bloody car crash. Bloody drunk drivers (literally). Oh well, at least I have more time to write now! I won't be back at work until the cast comes off my leg, so I might actually finish this thing while I'm working on further inspiration for my HP fic. _

_Warnings: Same old, same old._

_Disclaimer: Me no own. _

By the time they got halfway through the day, Damien felt like he'd strayed into a dream. _This_ was what he had been missing, all this time: _this_ was what he needed, to fill that hole in his heart that had previously refused to heal. It was mending now, though - now that Gerald was back.

All day, the adept had been alternating between a rather frightening intensity of concentration on the case, and a pulse-pounding level of flirtation with Damien. The profiler was seriously wondering when Gerald had gotten this aggressive - or maybe this was what Gerald had always been like, and Damien just hadn't seen it because the Hunter had been incapable of having that kind of relationship. Now, though...

When they were compiling a preliminary profile, the adept was all business. He asked all the right questions, pointed out flaws in the team's logic, and deduced a few possible conclusions that had Rossi clapping him on the back in open admiration. Once they had identified the victim, though - her name was Julia Edwards - Damien, Gerald, and Derek went out to her apartment while the rest of the team starting looking into similar crimes over the last several years and interviewing the dead girl's friends and coworkers. At that point, Gerald appeared to decide that Damien was now fair game.

It started innocently enough. Little accidental touches, their hands just brushing when they reached for the door at the same time. The way Gerald would smile at him, grey eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar teasing warmth. Then it got more serious.

Gerald started standing close enough to Damien that he could feel the heat from the adept's body on his skin. The touches got bolder, Gerald's slender, skilled fingers grazing along his arms and chest: once, the adept seemed to stumble on the uneven cobbles of the apartment's front walkway, and Damien caught him reflexively. He had one glorious instant of holding Gerald in his arms, feeling the man's warmth seeping into him, feeling the subtle musculature of that lithe body - then Gerald was on his feet again with the swift grace of a cat, and smiling at him with a look in his silver eyes that proclaimed he knew _exactly_ what he was doing to Damien. After that incident, Damien had to grind his teeth so hard he was sure Gerald could hear him, just to keep from jumping the golden haired tease.

By the time they left the office the rest of the team were smirking amongst themselves at every turn, clearly aware of the expert seduction being played out in their midst. What really starting driving Damien's blood pressure through the roof, though, was the antics of Derek Morgan. The black man was flirting shamelessly with Gerald, going so far as to drag out his vast store of patented pick-up lines. It was rather amusing, though, to watch Gerald shoot him down over and over again. Morgan was clearly baffled: he'd never run into that level of indifference before, not once. He didn't know how to handle it - so he simply flirted even more determinedly.

Julia Edwards' apartment was fairly standard: small but nicely furnished, tastefully done in shades of yellow and pale blue, with a few personal touches here and there. According to Garcia, the girl had no living relatives, her parents having died of Southern Swamp-pox a few years ago. She worked as a barmaid at a downtown nightclub: her coworkers had seen her leave as usual the night before, but she appeared to never have made it home. After going through her belongings, Damien shook his head.

"There's nothing here that would suggest she was being targeted." he said, picking up a framed miniature portrait from the coffee table. It showed Julia standing with her parents, all of them smiling, perfectly happy and content. "According to her friends she was fairly street-savvy from working in a nightclub, and she took a well-lit path home. A pretty low-risk victim all around. No one seems to know of any enemies she might have had: looks like it might have been simple opportunity."

"Which makes it more likely the killer's working from a physical type." Gerald put in. He'd been scanning the place thoroughly using the fae, trying to pick up on any suspicious traces. Damien felt a chill, remembering: that was how the Hunter had chosen his victims. Pale-skinned young women, dark-haired and beautiful, foolish enough to walk alone after Coreset...

Morgan shot a sideways glance at Gerald. "I guess this unsub's targeting girls with dark hair, then? Personally, I prefer blondes. Of either team."

Because he was watching for it, Damien saw the slight flicker when Gerald started to roll his eyes before catching himself. Before the adept could respond, though, Damien forced himself to speak levelly.

"Keep looking. Just in case. We can't rule anything out yet."

"You're not going to find anything helpful here, she wasn't targeted."

Morgan swore and whipped out his gun: a man had appeared out of thin air just inside the door. Slightly portly, wearing a ridiculous ensemble of vividly purple robes, and lounging nonchalantly against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Damien sighed.

"Derek, put your gun down. Karril, you really shouldn't do that. I'm used to you, but profilers in general tend to be high-strung."

Morgan gaped. "Wait - you know this character?"

Karril grinned and bowed with a flourish. "Karril, at your service - you can refer to me as God if you like."

"He's an Iezu with a superiority complex." Gerald said acerbically. "What are you doing here, Karril?"

"Mes Edwards was one of my sister's disciples." Karril said with a shrug. "Saris is rather distressed over the matter, so she bullied me into coming and talking to you. Apparently, Mes Edwards was attacked in the alley over on Evergreen Street. Whoever it was had a rather unorthodox method of shielding: they were throwing off such chaotic signals that Saris couldn't sort them out in time before the attacker was out of range. They were either deliberately scrambling their signature somehow, or they were _way_ insane."

Damien sighed again. "Great. We're looking for a lunatic who's killing at random and could strike again at any time. Just wonderful."

They finished their scan and headed back to headquarters. This was usually the point where Damien would begin to brood, worrying over different aspects of the case. This would continue until he became utterly unapproachable, and would remain so until the case was solved. This time, though, Gerald clearly didn't intend to let that happen. He kept up a constant stream of banter and flirting, and in spite of himself Damien felt his spirits lift. After all, nearly every day they had one case or another: this was the first time in five years that he had had Gerald by his side. That had to count for something.

Apparently prompted by a question from Morgan, Gerald had launched into a spirited account of the one time he'd been foolhardy enough to try Working the tidal fae. Damien had to smile.

"You never could just accept the laws of nature, could you, Gerald?"

The adept laughed, silver eyes sparkling as he threw a grin at the ex-priest. "I've always considered them more as _guidelines,_ Vryce. Meant for the unimaginative. I will admit to being many things, but unimaginative is not one of them."

"No, it certainly isn't." Damien said dryly. "That's like saying Karril's polite and circumspect."

Gerald actually burst out laughing. Real, genuine, heartfelt laughter, as warm as the summer sunlight streaming over them. Damien felt a strange twisting sensation in his chest, as though something were tearing apart only to knit itself back together instantly, a wound reopening just to heal stronger than before. He smiled, feeling happiness radiate through him at that rich, musical sound. God, how long he'd wanted to hear Gerald truly laugh, with that honest happiness that the shroud of the Hunter had denied him.

Gerald looked over at him, and their eyes locked for a moment: one corner of the adept's mouth curved up further, and his eyes shone. Damien knew that Gerald had read his thoughts on his face, but he only smiled wider, because he really didn't care if Gerald knew. As much fun as this strange game of teasing flirtation was at the moment, in truth this was far more than a game, and they both knew that.

Derek Morgan, watching, felt a sudden pang as he saw the look the two men shared. It was the kind of look that said louder than words how much they cared. The kind of look that meant they were seeing only each other, that for a few seconds the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. It shook Morgan, seeing that depth of connection. Then it was gone again, so fast that he wondered if he had seen it at all - but in the back of his mind he knew he had.

Morgan sighed silently. He'd try a few more passes, because that's just how he rolled, but clearly he'd been wrong. Gerald Tarrant wasn't a free agent at all. He was a man on a mission, and the only person he wanted was clearly Damien Vryce.

Ah, well. He'd keep flirting for a while. It was too much fun to give up.

Had anyone heard Morgan's thoughts, even someone as oblivious as Karril, they would have been able to tell him exactly how terrible that idea was. Sadly, the Iezu was absent, so Morgan was just going to have to learn the hard way.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: I guess not many CM fans have read the Coldfire Trilogy. Dag nabbit. Oh well. I told myself setting out that I'd better be prepared for a lack of readers in certain fandoms: someday, someone will come along who, like me, is familiar with both fandoms: that person will probably laugh hysterically when they realize that they're not the only one who wanted to mix the two. _

_Warnings: You know the drill. _

_Disclaimer: Own these fandoms, I do not. _

_A.N.2: The simultaneously brilliant and god-awful song in this chapter is The Marshall of Silver City, brought to you by the one and only Jimmie Driftwood. I know that song's hard to find online, but listening to any of his music would give you the general idea of what Damien's being subjected to. I'm a huge Jimmie Driftwood fan myself, and even I will admit that he has an... unconventional approach, to put it mildly. Poor Damien._

When they entered the bullpen and Damien told them they could go home for the day, the first thing to come out of Derek Morgan's mouth was, "You got any plans for tonight, Tarrant?"

Before Gerald could even open his mouth, the frustration that had melted away during the trip to HQ flooded right back and Damien's frayed patience finally snapped. "Morgan!" he barked. "Have you ever even heard the word 'professionalism'? It means _not_ hitting on consulting agents, dammit. You might want to try it some time!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, while Tarrant openly smirked. Damien slammed the stack of files he was carrying down on his desk and added, "All of you, get the hell out of here and get some sleep. And Morgan, if you so much as vulking _think_ of continuing this - whatever the hell you're doing - I will dock your pay for a month!" With that dire pronouncement, Damien grabbed his jacket and stormed out the office, swearing continuously under his breath.

There was utter silence for a moment, then Gerald shook his head. "For profilers, you don't read danger signals very well. As to your earlier question, Agent Morgan, I do not have plans for the evening - but I will not be spending it with you. If you have not caught on to what I'm trying to accomplish by this point, I would advise you to retire from the dating game permanently. You've clearly lost your edge." Not bothering to wait for a reply, Gerald straightened his tie and followed Damien from the bullpen.

The dumbfounded silence stretched a moment longer, then JJ gave a low whistle. "Wow. That was intense."

Emily shook her head. "Who knew D was going to snap like that? Maybe this thing between him and Tarrant is more serious than we thought."

Rossi sighed. "I warned you. This isn't something you lot should be interfering with! Let them sort it out on their own - and Derek, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you stay away from Agent Tarrant."

Morgan nodded slowly, feeling a little shell-shocked. He made a quick mental note: _never, ever tease the boss about dating again. Apparently, that's a sore topic._

Damien had managed to let go of most of his fury by the time he reached the picket line in front of the Bureau headquarters, where the agents' horses were tethered. When he approached, however, his horse shied away from him.

Damien sighed and set his briefcase down. "Alright Jahan, what is it this time? God, if I'd known you were going to be this finicky..."

The horse just looked back at him, dark eyes inscrutable. Damien had found Jahan at a local breeder's, shortly after joining the Bureau, when it had become clear that he desperately needed a new horse to replace the one he'd lost on the quest to destroy Calesta. Jahan was five years old then, the only one of his family not already sold. Supposedly, he had a 'difficult nature', and tended to be a bit strong-willed. The glossy chestnut stallion was an impressive creature, though nothing special physically: one look in those knowing eyes, though, had been enough to convince Damien this was the one. There was a quiet intelligence in the stallion that Damien had never seen in a horse before - taking into consideration the animal's peculiar temperament and undeniably sarcastic sense of humor, the priest-turned-agent had known _exactly_ what to name him.

Of course, at the time he christened the horse, he hadn't though he'd ever run into the inspiration again.

A soft, cool voice came from behind him. "I can't have heard that right. Your horse's name is _what,_ exactly?"

Damien smiled as he turned to look at Gerald, who was staring at Damien in wonder. The profiler shrugged sheepishly. "Jahan. It's weird, but... he kind of reminded me of you, in a way."

Jahan eyed Gerald warily, then appeared to decide that the adept passed muster: the horse snorted dismissively, swished his tail elegantly, and promptly bit the distracted priest on the ear.

"_Ouch!_" Glaring furiously, Damien rubbed at his wounded ear and shot Gerald a pointed glance. "See what I mean?"

Gerald chuckled. "He does have a certain style, doesn't he?" He regarded the horse thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy to forget the past..."

Damien felt a strange warmth spread through him: smiling softly, he reached out and laid one hand gently on Gerald's shoulder. "It's alright, Gerald. Maybe we both needed some time to sort things out." The adept just looked at him, the silver eyes skeptical. Damien smiled more broadly. "No, I mean it. It seems like the last few years did both of us some good. That said... I'm very glad that you're back."

Gerald smiled. "It's good to be back." he admitted softly, his eyes lingering on Damien's face. He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind about something. "I don't suppose _you_ had any plans for tonight?"

Damien laughed out loud. "No, I certainly didn't." he said, grinning. "You want to grab a drink somewhere? The_ Pie-Eyed Pirate_ is just down the block, it's classier than you'd guess from the name and they give us Feds a hefty discount."

Gerald nodded, eyes sparkling. "Sounds like a plan, Vryce. Lead the way."

They passed a very pleasant while at the Pie-Eyed Pirate, catching up on the events of the last few years. The Pie-Eyed Pirate was known as a favorite hang-out for law enforcement of all echelons: the unwritten rule was that you left your rank at the door. It was busy tonight, and Damien and Gerald just managed to grab a free booth while they waited for one of the harried-looking waitresses to make their way over. Harried they might have been, but the waitresses weren't going to complain: they got the politest drunks and some of the best tips in the whole damn city. Of course, the laws of fate dictated that the two agents hadn't been there for more than ten minutes before some drunken rookie cop started up a chorus of _The Marshall of Silver City_. Damien groaned as the distinctive twangs of a homemade guitar echoed through the moderately lit room.

"_I came to that big river and I couldn't get across_

_I went up to the hitch-rack and I borrowed me a hoss_

_I didn't tell the owner when I aimed to bring him back_

_So Judge Parker put the Sheriff on my track..._"

Gerald was chuckling softly. "This is a regular feature here, hmm?"

"Oh, yes." Damien muttered. "You should see it on a Saturday night. The whole bloody place will be belting out songs till sunup. That nimrod with the guitar is James Henderson, he walks a beat out on Hillcrest and Osprey. Never met an off note he didn't play."

"_We rode across the prairie wide, just I, myself, and me_

_We went before Judge Parker and we told him how it be_

_He sentenced me to hang upon a tree till I was dead_

_Then he pardoned me and this is what he said_

_I know that you're the darndest fool that ever stole a hoss_

_Go back to Silver City, Bill, and show em who's the boss_

_I kept the law in Silver till the rustlers cut me down_

_I tell ya boys, I've really bin around!_"

The blond agent laughed. A moment later, as though conjured by the musical sound of his mirth, a waitress materialized out of the crowd. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a stern bun, though several wisps had escaped and straggled around her face, softening the effect greatly. She looked run ragged, but she summoned a warm smile.

"Evenin', D, 'bout time I saw you in here - I was starting to think you'd got yerself shot full a' holes again." she said, her blue eyes twinkling, her speech tinged with a soft southern accent. "Who's yer handsome friend?"

Damien grinned. "Evening, Marie. This is Gerald Tarrant, he's an old friend - apparently his boss got sick of him, so he dumped him on my case."

"More like Strauss thought you needed a babysitter." Gerald retorted good-naturedly before treating Marie to the patented Revivalist charm. "Well now, if all the ladies in this place are this lovely, no wonder it's a favorite with the boys in blue."

Marie blushed. "Lord almighty, where've you bin hiding this charmer, D? Mercy, I ain't blushed this bad since I was in high school! What can I get for you two gents this evenin'?"

"The usual for me, Marie, and... let me guess, some ridiculously expensive wine, Gerald?"

The adept laughed. "Merenthan Red, if you have it." he said to the waitress, who smiled.

"Course we got it, Mer, best wine this side o' the Serpent! Back in two shakes." Marie disappeared, and Gerald lifted an eyebrow at Damien.

"She thought you'd been - what was it - 'shot full of holes, _again_'?"

Damien grimaced. "I was hoping you hadn't caught that." He rolled up his sleeve: the circular divot of scar tissue just above his elbow was clearly visible, even in the less-than-ideal lighting. "Got caught in a shoot-out with some desperate kid downtown: he'd already killed his mother and sister, then went on a rampage at his school. The idiot who called us in conveniently forgot to mention that the kid had been using cerebus for a good six months, he was crazier than a -" Damien caught himself abruptly, and Gerald smirked.

"-Starving Forest-wolf?" he finished softly, his silver eyes twinkling. The saying had started south of Jaggonath, in the districts where the Hunter was more of a distant legend, and it was gaining in popularity now that the Lord of the Forest was gone. Damien winced.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Gerald's gaze was calm and steady as he looked at Damien. "That's part of why I was gone so long, Vryce. I spent so long evading death... it took me a while to come to terms with being mortal again. I've put that behind me now, though. I've accepted it. You don't have to tiptoe around mentioning my past."

Damien relaxed and smiled at the adept. "I'm glad to hear that. I wanted to ask how that worked out for you, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. You're really okay with it, then?"

"Yes." There was a look in Gerald's eyes that Damien didn't recognize, but it sent a surge of warmth through the former priest. "I owe you a lot of thanks, Damien. For reminding me that there are advantages to being human, no matter how hard it is."

Damien hadn't missed the fact that Gerald used his first name, and he felt the sincere words tug at his heartstrings as he returned Gerald's steady gaze. "It was my honour, Gerald."

They stayed for another hour, reveling in each other's company, but eventually the late hour forced them to part ways. Outside the tavern, Gerald turned to Damien, his silver eyes luminescent in the darkness. He was every bit as beautiful as the Hunter had been, and Damien felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Goodnight, Damien." the adept breathed, then he leaned in close and brushed his lips against Damien's. The contact was feather-light and fleeting, but it nevertheless sent tingles through Damien, as though he'd touched an active fae-ward. Smiling that breathtaking smile, Gerald gave him one last look then slipped away into the darkness, leaving the stunned profiler behind.

Damien stood there a moment, speechless, then a broad grin broke out across his face and he grabbed Jahan's reigns, shaking his head affectionately.

"Goodnight, Gerald." he murmured to the darkness, knowing the adept would hear.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: The end is actually in sight now! I figured out how I want the case to wrap up, and it's going to happen in about... say, two more chapters. Then an epilogue, to tie it all up in a nice bright bow. For now, on with Chapter Six!_

Damien had only been asleep for two hours or so when the ringing of the phone shattered the night. Groaning, he managed to get ahold of the receiver and dragged it over to his ear.

"Vryce here."

"D, you'd better get down here." Morgan's voice was tense. "Second body's been found. This is bad, D, really bad."

Damien was awake instantly, heart pounding. "Shit, I'll be right there. What's the address?"

"An alley down on the 300 block of Chestnut Street." Morgan said tersely. "The attacker didn't even bother trying to conceal the body. We've got another message, too, but I think you'd better see that for yourself."

Fifteen minutes later Damien was reigning in at the entrance to the alley in question. He knew the area well: his old apartment, where he'd stayed upon first arriving in Jaggonath, was only a block from here. The area was packed with police, yellow crime scene tape standing out starkly against the brickwork of nearby buildings. Gerald black Forest-bred horse was already tethered near the alley. Sighing, Damien slid from the saddle, tossed Jahan's reigns to a nearby rookie, and headed into the scene itself.

Gerald was examining the butchered corpse of a young woman, his face the epitome of clinical detachment. Rossi was standing nearby, looking rather green about the gills, while Reid was taking measurements and muttering to himself. Morgan was shaking his head, grimacing.

"Damn, this is an ugly one. Glad you got here fast, D - the PD wants to clear the scene as soon as possible, they don't want word to spread or we'd have a panic."

Damien nodded absently, his insides twisting as he looked down at the girl's body. She was even more viciously ravaged than the last victim, barely recognizable as human. Gerald was studying the pattern of cuts on her body when he swore abruptly.

"Hellfire. Vryce, we've got a very serious problem."

Damien groaned internally as he moved closer. "What is it?"

"These shallow cuts here, on her abdomen." Gerald gestured to the thin lines, barely visible through the blood and gore. "This is a very obscure demon-summoning sigil, traditionally used to invoke any powerful demon, but in recent years it took on special significance for one particular cult. Three guesses which supposed deity used this symbol."

Damien's stomach dropped into his feet. "Not _Calesta?_"

"The one and only." Gerald looked up, eyes dark. "He's well dead, Vryce, but whoever is committing these murders is trying to make a point. That explains the ritualistic aspect. The reasons for that, though..."

He gestured to the wall of the alley. Heart sinking, Damien looked up.

There, as before, were words written in dripping blood. This time, though, there was more than one.

_**YOU TRADED THEIR LIVES FOR HIS.**_

The world tilted under Damien, and he gasped involuntarily. Pieces tumbled over and clicked into place in his mind, painting a horrifying picture of hatred... and revenge.

_Murderer. You traded their lives for his..._

Reid was chattering on. "This pretty much rules out the possibility of the target being Lady Ciani. With a direct message like this, either the unsub has completely lost touch with reality, or they have a strong reason to believe that the target will see this message somehow."

_Their lives..._ young women slaughtered, in the manner of the Hunter's victims. Calesta's sigil carved on the corpse. The first body left in the Fae Shoppe - the home of one of Damien's few friends and ex-lover. Accusations of trading the young women's lives for someone else's. _Merciful God_...

"Damien?" Gerald had straightened, and he was looking at Damien with considerable concern. "Are you alright?"

The team was staring at him now, worried. Damien swallowed hard, his voice seeming to come from far away.

"I think I might know who the target is - I just hope to God I'm wrong..."

A uniformed police officer hurried up then, pale-faced and wide-eyed. "Agents, we've just found another body. This one was left on the steps of the Great Cathedral."

Damien's last shield of denial shattered like glass. He swore and headed for his horse at a run, scarcely aware of the other agents doing the same.

The police officers were in the process of securing the scene as the agents arrived. The girl's body lay sprawled across the marble steps, blood still dripping slowly onto the step below. As Hotch shouted for officers to start a perimeter search, Damien's gaze was locked on the words scrawled across the white stone in stark crimson lines.

_**HOW MANY WILL DIE, SO HE CAN LIVE?**_

Gerald was at his side, steadying him, his face pale. "Damien, you don't think..."

"We can talk about this back at the office." Damien barely managed to get the words out, but he was hyperaware of the rest of his team standing nearby, listening avidly. "Besides, with the way this is going, I want you behind bulletproof walls _now_."

"Damien, it's virtually impossible for this to be directed at either of us." Gerald said quietly, his tone urgent, not caring about the eavesdropping agents. "You know damn well that nearly everyone connected with what happened is dead - who could possibly know?"

"_Not here._" Damien ground out, then turned to his team.

"Process the scene. I want every damn scrap of information you can give me, and I want it yesterday. Meet us back at HQ in one hour." Not waiting for them to protest, he dragged Gerald away from the gruesome tableau.

Back at the office, they were intercepted on their way across the bullpen by Garcia, who looked decidedly intrigued. "Hey, boss, there's a letter here addressed to you. Just came in about twenty minutes ago. There's no return address, though."

Damien took the envelope from her hand, feeling dread curdle in his stomach. "Thanks, Garcia. Gerald, my office."

Only after the door was safely closed behind them did Damien turn to Gerald, his eyes dark as he held up the letter. "Want to bet this is connected to the case?"

Gerald winced. "Better read it, then."

Damien sank down onto the couch, feeling sick as he slit open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was covered in thin, slanting, spidery writing: slightly familiar, but not enough for him to place. Damien stared in horror at the words on the page before him, which seemed to burn themselves into his mind.

_It would seem, __**Reverend**__ Vryce, that you've forgotten the consequences of your actions. As such, it's fallen to me to remind you._

_The creature you spared is a monster who slaughtered young women at his master's whim, yet you saved his life. You had a chance to rid Erna of his wickedness forever and instead you unleashed his evil on our world again. This is your doing, Vryce - this is what happens when you let a creature like that live. Was it worth it? Was it worth four innocent lives to keep that demon for your own? Don't deny it - that's why you did it. You damned us all so he could live and sold your own soul to feed his evil. You'll pay for that, but first, you're going to see exactly what you've done. _

_You're a murderer, Damien Vryce. You're no better than him - and he hasn't changed. No one so heartless could ever return to humanity. He should have been hunted down like the dangerous animal he is, not protected. You failed, and you cost those women their lives. Enjoy the fruits of your labors._

For a moment, Damien felt as though he couldn't get enough air into his lungs: the room seemed to contract around him, the walls suddenly far too close. One phrase pounded through his head over and over, drumming into his mind.

_Was it worth four innocent lives to keep that demon for your own? _

"Damien?" It was Gerald's voice. Forcing himself to focus, Damien looked at him: the adept was gazing at him in open concern, grey eyes entirely too discerning. "What does it say?"

Unable to speak, Damien handed him the letter.

Gerald ran his eyes slowly down the page, growing paler with each line. By the time he finished, he was white as a sheet, and Damien could tell by the slight flutter of the paper that his hand was shaking. Slowly, Gerald looked up at him, grey eyes wide.

"It seems my secret's not quite as secure as I had hoped." he said softly, looking down at the paper again. "There is one good thing, though - it mentions my darker actions being committed at the behest of my 'master'. Whoever wrote this obviously believed my ruse that I was only a servant of the Forest, not its Lord."

Damien exhaled slowly and shakily, sinking back against the couch. "Yeah." he muttered, burying his face in his hands. "Great."

He heard the faint rustle of paper, then the couch next to him depressed slightly as Gerald sat down at his side. A slender hand brushed his shoulder, the elegant fingers featherlight and surprisingly tender. "We'll have to tell your team about my past - somewhat, at any rate. If we're going to solve this case, they have to know that I had ties to the Forest."

"If you think it's best." Damien's voice was a taut monotone, struggling to contain his guilt. Gerald sighed, then said softly, "Damien... you know this letter is nothing but lies, right?"

"Except it's not. Not entirely." Damien said hoarsely, lowering his arms and clenching his hands together in his lap until his knuckles turned white, not looking at Gerald. "Whoever wrote that knows me, Gerald - a bit too well."

The adept's fingers stilled on his arm, then moved to cup his chin. Gerald brought Damien's head up gently, turning him until their eyes met. Damien felt the sight take his breath away: Gerald's eyes were molten, swirling with barely repressed emotion as he whispered, "Is it true, why you saved me? Because... you wanted me? Even then, even with what I was?"

Damien felt like he was being turned inside out, but with a Herculean effort he kept his voice steady. "That's not the only reason why, but... yes."

An instant later Gerald was kissing him - kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man, his lips moving almost frantically against Damien's, begging for a response. Damien couldn't fail to react to that intensity, and there was really only one thing for him to do: he kissed back, his hands coming up and fingers tangling in Gerald's golden hair, pressing his tongue against Gerald's lips and forcing his way into the adept's mouth, letting his guilt drown in pleasure.

Gerald sagged against him with a breathless moan as Damien's tongue plundered his mouth, the ex-priest feeling drunk on the heady, intoxicating sweetness of the adept's kiss. Gerald fought back, both of them struggling for dominance until the adept suddenly capitulated and let Damien push him back against the cushions. They finally broke apart, both of them panting, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting them hard. Damien could hardly believe this was really happening, not just another of his fantasies; Gerald half-pinned underneath him on the couch, staring at him with desire glazing his grey eyes, pale lips swollen and flushed a delicious petal-pink from the ferocious kiss they'd shared. They stared at each other for a moment, hearts pounding, then Gerald broke the silence.

"I'd apologize, but I don't think either of us is actually sorry."

Damien let out a bark of laughter - trust Gerald to be kissed breathless and still have a snappy retort at the ready. He let his weight rest a little more heavily on the adept, smiling wickedly at him. "Right, as usual."

Gerald's breath caught and he shifted slightly, freezing when the motion only caused both of them to gasp. He stared up at Damien, clearly struggling to keep his breathing steady, his pupils dilated in lust. "Much as I'd like to let this play out, Vryce, we do have a murderer to catch, and your team will be back soon..."

"Oh, I'm not letting you off the hook that easily." Damien growled, placing his hands on either side of Gerald's lean torso, completely trapping the handsome adept. "I put up with you teasing me _all vulking day_ yesterday - you're just going to have to deal with the consequences."

Damien was entirely focused on the man pinned under him, so he heard the slight hitch in Gerald's breathing, despite the adept's attempt to conceal it. "What sort of consequences?" Gerald inquired in a breathy whisper, his eyes dilating further.

Oh, this was torture - and yet, so easy. Damien smirked. "This." he murmured, then crashed their mouths together again. He didn't bother trying to be gentle this time, and Gerald obviously appreciated that: his lean body arched against Damien's as he moaned into the knight's mouth, shivering when Damien caught hold of his wrists and pinned him to the couch. With an effort Damien pulled away again, then moved his head so that his lips were just brushing Gerald's ear, enjoying the way the adept's breath trembled in his throat. "And this."

Damien let go of Gerald and stood in the same motion, smirking as he took a few carefully measured steps away from the couch. Gerald pushed himself back up into a sitting position, glaring daggers: he looked like a total wreck, his hair disheveled and his jacket rumpled and half-unbuttoned from that first savage embrace. "You're going to pay for that later." he threatened as he stood as well, straightening his tie and attempting to smooth the wrinkles from his silk attire.

Damien grinned. "Better behave yourself, or I'll handcuff you to my desk." he threatened, watching with glee as Gerald's eyes went nearly black with lust at his words and tone.

"Careful, Vryce, I might just hold you to that threat." Gerald said, his eyes glittering as he smiled coyly. Damien chuckled and shook his head.

"You're incorrigible."

"Correction, I'm determined." Gerald drawled, finally succeeding in getting the worst wrinkles of out his suit. "I've been working on plans for seducing you for the last seven years, Vryce: now that I finally get to try it, I'm not going to beat around the bush."

Damien was already heading for the door when Gerald's words sank in and he whipped around, mouth hanging open. "_Seven years_?" he whispered hoarsely, when his voice was working again. "But - that would mean since..."

Gerald smiled softly, his teasing manner dissolving into genuine warmth. "Since the rakhlands." he acknowledged quietly, moving to stand close to Damien, reaching up to touch Damien's jaw. His fingers were warm, so unlike they had been on that fateful journey. Gerald's eyes were warm too, pools of pure emotion as he added, "Since the night you rescued me from the fire."

Damien's throat tightened in emotion, and he reached up to catch hold of Gerald's wrist, sliding their hands together and intertwining their fingers. "Gerald... that long?"

The adept nodded, his eyes glistening as he whispered, "Always."

He moved past Damien, toward the door: his hand was on the doorknob when he heard the ex-priest mumble, "The storm."

Gerald paused, then turned back, startled. "What?"

"That storm - on board the Golden Glory." Damien said, forcing himself to look up and meet Gerald's eyes. "When you came on deck in broad daylight, to Work the clouds. I didn't realize it then, not for a long time - but that's when I fell in love with you."

Gerald's eyes shone with happiness and he moved back into Damien's arms. They kissed again, and this time it was slow and sweet, loving and tender. It was sheer bliss. Reluctantly, they pulled apart and smiled at each other, basking in the emotions swirling in each other's eyes. Damien held Gerald's hand tightly as he whispered, "I know we need to focus on the case for now, but after - can we give this a chance, instead of running again?"

Gerald nodded, his throat choked with emotion as he answered, "There's nothing I'd like better."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Whee! An actual follower! I adore you, Werebunny, I really do. Hope you enjoy the first part of the climax of the case - and the team's reactions when they find out who Gerald is! _

When the team, including Garcia, had returned to the office and were gathered in the conference room, Damien laid the letter down on the table. "This came into the office about half an hour ago. It's from the unsub. It was no accident that the first body was found in the Fae Shoppe: the unsub's targeting me. I don't know who it could be, but whoever it is knows entirely too much about my past. These killings are some sort of twisted revenge for a choice I made five years ago, a choice that very few would have made. Whoever the unsub is, they think I made the wrong decision."

The letter was passed around, with everyone except for Gerald reading it. The adept was standing just to Damien's left, his face very pale, but his grey eyes determined. It was time to come clean.

When everyone had read the letter, Emily shot Damien a puzzled look. "Who is this other person the unsub is talking about?"

"Me."

Gerald's voice was soft, but carried well in the sudden silence. Damien gave him a reassuring look before turning to his team.

"There's something I never told any of you about my quest to stop Calesta. What I'm about to tell you isn't something that can be bandied about. If you don't want to carry the burden of that kind of secret, then we can proceed as things are, but the case is likely going to be compromised."

Morgan spoke for them all. "We're not blind, D. We're profilers: we knew there was something you weren't saying. We're all in this together, though: you can tell us. It won't leave this room."

Damien nodded his thanks, then took a deep breath and stepped off the metaphorical cliff. "I'm sure you remember the stories in the paper about the adept who helped me defeat Calesta: you might have guessed by now that they were talking about Gerald. The papers never knew the full story, though."

Gerald took up where Damien had left off, his face an expressionless mask. "I used to serve the Hunter." Gasps rang throughout the room, but the adept didn't pause. "I'm not proud of what I was, but I did what I had to, to survive. I met Damien when he was passing near the Forest: the Hunter sent me with him, because Calesta posed a great enough threat that even he was worried. Over the course of the journey... things changed. I realized that I'd become a monster, and for the first time in far too long I regretted that. Thanks to Damien, I also realized that I didn't have to stay that way if I didn't want to. When the Crusade moved in on the Forest, I didn't go back. No one, aside from a few of the shadier merchants in Sheva and those in this room, know what I used to be."

There was silence: Garcia in particular looked very pale. Finally, Hotch spoke quietly.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shocked, but... I've been a field profiler for eight years. This case is one of the most gruesome we've ever caught. In my entire career, I've met exactly two people who could stand that kind of slaughter without flinching - you, and Damien here. I knew the reason for that couldn't be pleasant."

"A lot of people who join this unit have shady pasts." Rossi said, shrugging. "You don't choose to work in Hell unless you've already passed through at least once."

Damien and Gerald made the mistake of making eye contact, and Damien couldn't stop a slightly hysterical laugh from bubbling out of his throat. Gerald just shook his head, smirking wryly. JJ stared at them.

"What's so funny?"

"Not that I'd expect any of you to believe me, but we've actually been in Hell." Damien said, shaking his head. "Literal hell. Fire and brimstone, that sort of thing."

This was met with shocked stares from all. Reid looked the least unsettled - and the most speculative. "It's real, then? That's remarkable... I wonder..."

"Don't." Hotch said dryly. There was some faint laughter at that, diffusing the tension slightly: Damien was the only one who saw the shadow that flitted through Gerald's eyes, and the way the adept lifted his hand to trace an unconscious path down his cheek, where a livid scar had once marred his flawless skin.

Damien cleared his throat. "Alright, now that we've got the shocking explanation part over with... how are we going to catch this nutcase?"

Reid grimaced slightly. "I was going to say earlier that the handwriting analysis on all the messages would suggest the unsub is a woman."

Damien exhaled heavily and braced his arms against the table. "Lovely. In that case... between that, the content of the messages, and the unsub's knowledge of who Gerald is - we're probably looking for one of the Hunter's surviving victims."

Rossi looked thoughtful. "How many of the Hunter's victims escaped the Forest alive, in a time frame recent enough to be the killer?"

"Four." Reid said, in the same breath that Gerald said, "Seven."

Shock rippled through the room, and Reid looked dumbfounded: he'd gotten a statistic wrong? Seeing his expression, Gerald shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Oh, I don't doubt that the official count is four. Trust me, though, the official count is wrong. I was... fairly high in the Forest's hierarchy. Of those seven, two didn't have the mental capacity to pull off this kind of calculated crime, and one of those two, along with three others, have committed suicide since then."

Reid's eyes widened. "Four dead and one other incapacitated - that only leaves two possibilities!"

Emily leaned forward, her dark eyes intent. "If you can give us their names, we can run a search through the records, see if any of them are in the area... Tarrant?"

Damien looked sharply at the adept, and felt his heart twist. Gerald had suddenly clutched at the back of a chair, the blood draining from his face. He looked like he was about to be sick. Gently, Damien reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Gerald? What is it?"

"I... I don't even know." Gerald whispered, his grey eyes beginning to glimmer with what looked like tears. "I never knew their names. I can barely remember their faces, and I didn't... I never even knew their names..."

His heart twisting, Damien abandoned all pretenses and put his arm around the adept. Gerald leaned into him without protest, proof of just how unsettled he was. Damien shot a quick look around at his teammates, silently daring them to protest. Morgan looked crestfallen, Rossi seemed ruefully resigned, JJ, Garcia and Emily looked like they were aww-ing in their minds, and Hotch and Reid were smiling fondly at each other. Damien allowed himself to relax and held onto Gerald a little tighter, thinking hard. Seven women...

"Wait." A memory jolted through Damien, sending shocks down his spine. "Gerald. Out of the ones that survived - Narilka's alive, and she's sane. She's in Merentha though, she married Andrys last week. That only leaves one unaccounted for."

JJ stared. "Narilka Lessing was taken by the Hunter? How in the world did she get away unscathed?"

"She was taken shortly after I started to follow a different path." Gerald said quietly, not looking up and making no move to abandon the shelter of Damien's arm. "I helped her get away."

"If we could find a picture of all the possibilities, would you recognize the one we're looking for?" Hotch asked gently. Gerald nodded stiffly.

"Most likely."

Five minutes of strained silence later, Garcia bustled back into the room carrying a small stack of papers. "This is what we have from the old missing files on the women who were taken by the Hunter. The sketches were a little outdated when we got them, but at least they're fairly accurate."

Gerald took the stack of drawings without a word and flipped through silently, his grey eyes dark as he saw once more the innocent young women that he'd slaughtered like so many animals. Damien's heart ached for the adept: just when he had finally put his lengthy past behind him, to have it all dredged up again like this...

Gerald's hand stilled on one of the pictures, and his face went absolutely white. "This one. I remember her... she fought. Most of them just gave up, sooner or later, but she kept fighting right until the end. I think that's why he let her go."

JJ took the picture and checked the file, her gaze thoughtful. "Hmm. Now why does that name sound familiar? Elana Rawlston..."

Damien nearly fainted. The room seemed to tilt under him a little, and he staggered, his own face going pale. "My God. Did you say _Elana Rawlston?_"

JJ glanced up, startled. "Yes, why?"

Damien fell back into a nearby chair, his knees refusing to support him. Realizing his hands were shaking, he clenched them, swallowing hard. "I... _shit_. I knew her. Hell, I _dated_ her. We grew up together, in Ganji..."

Gerald was looking faintly sick again. Rossi gave Damien a sympathetic glance. "Hard to believe that she could do this?"

"No." Damien said quietly, memories washing through him. Seeing the shock on his team's faces, he shook his head. "I know it's cold, but honestly, no. She... Elana came from a bad home, and even then I could tell she wasn't quite right in the head. She was insanely possessive, clingy, panicky - and she had a mean streak, even then. That's why I left her. She stalked me for a few months afterward: I shook her off when I got my first assignment from the Church. I had no idea she'd ever made her way this far east... but she's exactly unbalanced enough to do this. If she managed to finally track me down again, only to find out I was traveling with one of the Hunter's servants... God, she must have snapped then and there. I'm amazed it's taken her this long to start killing, honestly."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Wow, boss. I didn't know you made a habit of dating psychopaths - no offense, Tarrant."

"None taken." Gerald murmured. "If she's hunting victims by the Hunter's methods, though, we have almost no chance of predicting where she'll strike next. Contrary to what the more hysterical factions of the public liked to think, most of the Hunter's prey were simply victims of opportunity."

As usual, Reid was the one to start talking before he finished thinking. "You know, there's an interesting tendency in most of mankind to objectify unpleasant topics: for example, the way those affected by the Hunter's actions often refer to his victims as 'prey', distancing the women from the rest of the population and equating them more with animals-"

Hotch's patented death-glare silenced the young genius, but everyone in the room was already cringing, waiting for Gerald's reaction. The blond adept merely lifted an eyebrow at the suddenly pale agent, and said softly, "If you spent far too many years of your life leading innocent women to their deaths, Doctor Reid, I think you'd objectify them as well."

There was a tense silence, broken by JJ. "If we can't predict the next strike by victimology, how else can we try to get in front of this woman?"

Damien was staring at the map on the wall, colored pins denoting the sites where victims had been found, frowning absently. "First the _Fae Shoppe_, to make sure I'd get the case..." he muttered, thinking hard. "Then an alley a block from my old apartment, then the steps of the Cathedral. All places connected to me somehow. Where else could she hit? Cee's apartment, maybe... or - Gerald, where are you staying?"

"At the Eagle's Crest." Gerald said, and Damien rolled his eyes.

"Of course you are."

The Eagle's Crest was, of course, the most lavish hotel in Jaggonath. Gerald smirked. "It's only temporary while I sort out a few things. I'll have a permanent residence soon, I'm just wading through the last of the paperwork."

"Alright. I'll set a detail on the hotel - and don't even _bother_." he added sharply, as Gerald opened his mouth to protest. "Elana's not even close to being stable, I'm not letting you out of my sight until she's behind bars."

Gerald sighed. Before anyone could say anything further, a call for JJ rang through the station. The blonde ducked out for a moment, and Hotch turned to Damien. "What's the plan?"

Damien opened his mouth, but at that moment JJ hurried back in, her face pale.

"D, that was a call from the station - they just received a nine-one-one from Lady Ciani's apartment. According to the officer who answered... it sounds like it was Elana Rawlston who made the call."

...

...

_Dun dun dun! What comes next in Elana Rawlston's evil scheme? You'll find out - soon enough!_


End file.
